


Distraction

by caramelle



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Ferris Wheels, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9719186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: "He's scared of heights," the girl informs the bored-looking carnival employee before heading for an empty car."Wha—no," Seth says loudly, following after her automatically. "I'm not scared of fuckingheights, all right?"Or, the one where Seth somehow ends up on a Ferris wheel with a dark-haired girl.





	

**Author's Note:**

> technically, this isn't REALLY a Valentine's Day fic, seeing as i had no intention of posting a Valentine's Day fic, nor does any part of the fic make reference to Valentine's Day. 
> 
> all the same, i thought it'd be pretty appropriate for the occasion, so, enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> (title from 'Distraction' by Kehlani)

 

 

 

"No."

 

"Please?"

 

"No."

 

" _Please?_ "

 

" _No._ "

 

Seth casts a sidelong glance at his brother. Richie's chin is held out higher than usual, shoulders rigid with displeasure.

 

With a sigh, Seth shakes his head. "What, you giving me the silent treatment now? What are we, twelve?"

 

Richie doesn't say anything. Instead, he huffs pointedly through his nose, and turns ever so slightly away.

 

Seth groans in disbelief. "You're _seriously_ gonna ignore me? _Just_ because I said no to riding the goddamn _Ferris wheel?_ "

 

Silence.

 

"I can't fucking believe you," Seth mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 

"I can't fucking believe _you_ ," Richie retorts, his tone snippy. "I haven't seen you in six fucking months, and you won't even do this _one_ thing with me."

 

Seth's jaw drops.

 

"You're _joking_ , right?" he says, incredulous. "I'm _here_ , at the goddamn _carnival_ with you. How the fuck do you think we _got_ here? Here's a hint — it's sure as fuck not because _I_ wanted to come!"

 

Richie glares at him through his glasses. "Well, what's the _point_ if you're gonna be such a fuckin' _Debbie Downer_ the entire time?"

 

"A _Debbie_ —" Seth cuts himself off abruptly, the red-hot frustration now threatening to boil over. "We've been here _two hours_. I've done everything, literally _everything_ you wanted to do, for _two fuckin' hours!_ I ate _cotton candy_ , Richard. _Cotton candy!_ Like I'm in goddamn _junior high!_ Now I'm drawing the line at the fuckin' Ferris wheel, and _I'm_ the downer?!"

 

Richie folds his arms over his chest, petulant. "Whatever. Next time, I'm not even gonna bother coming up to see you. Not even for Christmas."

 

" _Motherfu—_ " Seth shakes his head, hands flying into the air. "Fine. You know what? Fuckin' _fine_. We'll ride your goddamn Ferris wheel. And then we're getting the fuck _outta_ here, got it?"

 

"Great," Richie says, lighting up with excitement. "This way!"

 

Seth glares after his brother. "I know where it fucking _is_ , thank you very much!"

 

 

* * *

 

  

"God fucking dammit," Seth mutters, craning his neck to look up at the wheel.

 

Next to him, Richie nudges him with an elbow. "What's up, brother? Nervous?"

 

"Fuck off," Seth says automatically, tearing his gaze away to distract himself.

 

He turns a little too far, and ends up making accidental eye contact with one of the girls in line behind them — the one with the long, dark hair. She's frowning a little at him, disapproval faintly etched across her face, like she's just caught him picking his nose in public or something.

 

He cocks a brow at her in challenge, but she's already turned away, slipping back into conversation with her friends.

 

Whatever. He's allowed to curse whenever he wants to, all right? It's not _illegal_ to _swear too loudly._ He should know. He's a fucking _cop._

 

"Oh, Jesus _fuck_ ," he mutters under his breath when the line moves forward again.

 

"You know," Richie says conversationally, "if you're _scared_ or something, you could just _say_ —"

 

"Shut up, Richard," he snaps, crossing his arms tightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the dark-haired girl shooting him another look, and resists the urge to retaliate with a glare of his own. What, now he's not allowed to tell his own brother to shut up?!

 

"Keeping calm, I see," Richie says blithely. "Good, good strategy. I'll be right back."

 

Seth blinks, Richie's matter-of-fact tone having dulled his senses slightly. When his brain finally catches up, his hand shoots out to grab at his brother's arm. "Wait, _what?_ "

 

Richie shrugs. "I want a hot dog."

 

"You just _had_ a hot dog," Seth says in disbelief. " _Thirty minutes ago._ "

 

Richie's eyes slide to him, the perfect picture of nonchalance. "And now, I want another one."

 

"You can't go and get a fuckin' hot dog now," Seth growls, glancing sharply towards the front of the line. "We're _next_ on this fuckin' ride!"

 

"How long does a hot dog take?" Richie points out idly. "I'll be back in, like, two minutes."

 

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Seth snaps, casting another half panicked glance at the wheel. He can't quite remember how long it's been going, but each round _does_ take quite a while.

 

He sighs, releasing his brother's arm. "Fine, whatever. _Go._ "

 

Richie ducks out of the line, and then turns back, his expression thoughtful. "You want anything?"

 

"Will you just _hurry the fuck up_ already?!" Seth hisses.

 

Richie shrugs, completely unfazed by his brother's ire, and turns to walk off, moving at a pace that is, in Seth's opinion, _completely_ un-fucking-hurried.

 

"Little fucking shitfucker," he mutters, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

 

He's probably asking for it this time. He really didn't need to glance around right after saying it.

 

But he latches on to the glare he gets from the dark-haired girl anyway, grateful for a distraction.

 

"You got somethin' to say, princess?" he snaps irritably.

 

She looks startled. To be fair, his agitated self does come off quite intimidating, as Freddie and Kisa and several other colleagues have taken it upon themselves to inform him multiple times.

 

She blinks, glancing self-consciously at her two friends before answering. "Not really, no."

 

God, she even _sounds_ the way she looks. All feminine, and dainty, and _gentle_ and shit.

 

He doesn't pay her friends much attention. He's already vaguely annoyed by them — or, more specifically, the way they're not even leaping into the ring to back her up. If anyone ever tried talking to his friends the way he's talking to her right now, they can _bet_ they'd be getting a faceful of Seth Gecko before they could even _blink._  

 

"Well, in that case, you mind nixing the dirty looks here?" he says with a pointed huff. " _Really_ don't need to know whenever you get hit with the urge to lecture me on my fuckin' _potty mouth._ "

 

She bristles at that, eyes widening furiously.

 

"I—" she starts to say, and then she falls silent.

 

He scoffs, turning to raise a brow at her again. "What? No comment?"

 

Her gaze cuts to him, frosty around the edges. "No _time_ for that, I think," she says a little icily, before gesturing in front of them.

 

Where the gate is opening.

 

To let out the previous batch of riders.

 

Which means it's now _their turn._

 

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, casting around frantically as the people right in front of him in the queue start to move towards the gate. "Oh, shit, shit, _shit_ —"

 

"Do you mind?" she says shortly. "You're holding up the line."

 

"Well, I _can't move_ , can I?" he bites out, shoving down the rising surge of panic. "My brother's not back yet."

 

"Not our problem," she says calmly, starting forward anyway. " _Some_ of us actually _want_ to be here. Moron," she adds, under her breath.

 

His jaw goes completely slack, opening and closing as he stares at her incredulously. "Hey, did you just call me a _mo_ —"

 

"Next pair, please."

 

Seth's head whips around. _Incredible._ In his bout of shocked outrage, he'd actually ended up _following_ the dark-haired girl right to the gate.

 

"Oh, no," he says, shaking his head violently. "No way, buddy. _Nope._ "

 

"He's scared of heights," the girl offhandedly informs the bored-looking carnival employee at the gate, before turning to follow her friends, both of whom have already gone ahead, giggling as they climb into a car.

 

"Wha— _no,_ " Seth says loudly, following after her automatically. "No, I'm _not_ ," he insists, glancing back at the employee. "I'm _not_ scared of fucking _heights_ , all right?"

 

A second employee materialises at his side — a young woman with flaming red hair. "Sir, you need to sit down," she says, gesturing cheerfully but commandingly towards the car.

 

Which he is somehow already standing beside.

 

The dark-haired girl blinks, already perched on one side of the seat. "What? No, he's not going on the ride," she says to the employee, the slim arches of her brows furrowed. "I'm taking this car alone."

 

The redheaded employee looks over to the bored one at the gate. "We got a soloist, Dave!"

 

Dave jabs a lazy thumb over to the front of the queue — to a small, beady man dressed in the ugliest shirt Seth's ever seen, along with a cheesy vest and a fedora to top it all off. "This guy, too. She wanna share cars?"

 

Seth watches in horror as the beady man's beady eyes find the girl, and his whole face stretches into a truly discomforting leer, a small pink tongue poking out between his yellowed teeth.

 

"No, she does not," Seth snaps at the redheaded employee, already climbing into the car before he can talk himself out of it. "End of discussion, let's go."

 

"Never mind," the redheaded employee calls cheerfully to Dave, bringing the safety barrier down over their heads and locking it into place over their middles. "Next pair!"

 

"What are you _doing?_ " the dark-haired girl hisses as their car starts with a jolt.

 

"Oh, fuck," he says involuntarily, both hands clapping over the safety rail. "What's happening, what the _fuck_ is going on!"

 

"They're moving forward," she says, one brow raised in some combination of amusement and bewilderment. "So the next two people can get on the car behind us?"

 

He whips his head around to check for himself. Blowing a sigh of relief at the sight of another pair climbing onto the ride, he turns back around. "Right. Okay. Cool."

 

Her head tilts. "Have you never been on a Ferris wheel before?"

 

He scoffs. "Gee, what tipped you off?"

 

It's a little harsher than the occasion really calls for, but, honestly, he can't really bring himself to _care._ He's got enough on his plate with trying not to _flip the fuck out_ right now.

 

He blinks when he hears an unfamiliar sound. He looks sharply at her, surprised to see her with one hand over her mouth — _smiling_.

 

"Did you just laugh at me?" he demands — but it's a lot closer to surprise than actual anger.

 

She drops her hand, the smile fading from her face. "I'm sorry," she says, enunciating clearly in a way that he instantly realises is deliberate, "am I not allowed to _laugh_ now?"

 

He winces at the familiarity of her words. "Right," he mutters, feeling a little chastised. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly, fingers clenching over the rail when it moves again to let the last pair on. They're dangling about nine or ten feet off the ground now, and his stomach is already beginning to lurch uncomfortably. His face contorts with a wry grimace. _Damn that hot dog._

 

"Sorry," he blurts out suddenly.

 

She turns sharply, looking at him with a confused frown.

 

"I mean— earlier," he says with a wave of his hand, concentrating on avoiding her gaze. "I wasn't really trying to, I don't know, go off on you or anything. S'just— ugh, my fucking _brother_." He takes another deep breath, and blows it out before daring to glance her way. "Just— he can really be a fucking dick, you know?"

 

She looks at him for a long moment, the buzz of the carnival crowd humming lowly in the background.

 

"Well," she says, still looking at him with a faint air of wariness, "what else are brothers for, right?"

 

To his surprise, a small smile emerges on her face.

 

"Besides," she says, her tone considerably lighter, " _something_ tells me you're no saint yourself."

 

His brows shoot up into his hairline. "I—"

 

And then he's cut off by his own strangled yelp, hands clapping around the security rail once again as the car starts to move.

 

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," he chants, eyes darting about in a mad panic. "Fuckfuckfuck _fuck_."

 

"Are you okay?" the dark-haired girl asks, a hint of genuine concern underlining her tone. "Seriously, you don't look so g—"

 

" _Jesus Christ_ ," he bursts out, one hand shooting out to clutch at her wrist from where it's propped over the security barrier, dangling lightly. "Jesus, Mary, _and_ Joseph, _isn't that fucking high enough?_ "

 

"Actually, it's not even halfway up yet."

 

" _Fucking shit,_ " he mutters, his fingers clenching tighter around her wrist. "Shit, damn, God, fuck, _shit!_ "

 

"Breathe through your nose," she advises helpfully. "Don't pass out or anything. I don't think I could catch you if you fell off now."

 

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you people?" Oh, Christ, he's in so much agony that he's damn near _whining._ "Why the _fuck_ would you even— _oh, mother of God!_ "

 

He vaguely hears the sound of her lilting laughter over the roaring in his ears, but all he can really focus on is the fact that his feet are _literally_ dangling over fucking _nothing_ , like, _a hundred fucking feet from the ground_.

 

"Oh my God," he breathes. "Oh my God, oh my _God_ , we're gonna die. We're a hundred fucking miles in the air, and we're gonna fucking _die._ "

 

A small hand covers his, resting lightly over the fingers still wrapped tightly around her wrist in a death grip.

 

"Speaking of dying," his dark-haired companion says, "not that I don't want to help you calm down or anything, but I _really_ prefer letting my blood do its thing and travel where it wants." She raises a brow at his dumbfounded expression, and gives his hand a prompting pat. "For example, to my hand?"

 

His eyes flick down to her wrist, still firmly grasped in his hand.

 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he says automatically.

 

And then he remembers that he's still holding it.

 

"Fuck," he says again, and abruptly releases her hand. "Shit, sorry. You okay?"

 

"It's fine, I was just kidding," she says, her other thumb rubbing light circles into her slightly reddened wrist. "Well. Mostly."

 

"Sorry," he says again, unable to take his eyes off the clearly chafed skin of her wrist. Shit, he's a _cop._ He should know a lot fucking better than to grab onto some random girl's arm like it's a fucking lifeline while on a fucking _Ferris wheel._ "Oh, fuck, that looks—"

 

"It's _fine_ ," she repeats, waving dismissively at him with the hand in question. "Really. It looks a lot worse than it is." She shrugs, careless but reassuring. "Always does, when you're as pale as I am. Here, look."

 

She brings her other arm around, tugging the sleeve of her denim overshirt up to show him her forearm. The vee of her elbow is splotched a faint but still distinct greenish yellow, a bruise that looks to be at least a few days old.

 

"Shit, princess," he says, momentarily distracted by the sight. "I'd hate to see the other guy."

 

"Oh, yeah," she boasts, clearly exaggerating to let him know that she's joking. "I really showed _him._ In fact, I'm willing to bet good money that from now on, my bookcase is gonna think twice before trying to start something with me ever again."

 

He scrunches his nose, the corners of his mouth already curving upwards despite himself. "Okay, gotta admit — the effect's kind of ruined now."

 

She sighs, pulling her sleeve back down over her elbow. "Damn. There goes my hard-earned street cred."

 

That actually gets a laugh out of him. A real, unfiltered laugh.

 

"Yeah, don't worry about it," he says, shaking his head. "You'll get your rep back, princess."

 

She tilts her head, as if amused by some private joke. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure you will, too."

 

He blinks, his brain taking a few extra moments to catch up. "Oh," he says, suddenly remembering that he's still trapped on a giant circle of _death._ "Oh," he repeats, eyes widening. " _Fuck._ "

 

"You've nearly made it through a full revolution," the girl says, her voice firm, and strangely calming. "I'm sure you'll get through another."

 

" _Another?_ " he squawks, his panicked gaze flying to her. "You're fucking _kidding_ m— oh, God, it's really going up again, Christ, _fuck,_ no!"

 

He barely even notices her hand moving to pat his, which is somehow wrapped around her wrist yet _again._

 

"This probably isn't a good time to tell you this," she says conversationally, "but from the looks of it, there isn't ever going to _be_ a good time, so, I should probably just let you know now that there's another revolution after this one."

 

He whips his head round to stare at her, his wide eyes rounding into circles.

 

"Are you _serious?_ " he demands. "Why the _fuck_ would anyone wanna go round on this fucking _contraption_ three fucking times?!"

 

She shrugs, the smile playing on her lips poorly concealed by her evidently half-hearted efforts. "Some people like the view from up here."

 

"View? What _view_ ?!" he echoes in disbelief, tearing his gaze from her to look around for himself. "What kinda asshole would _voluntarily_ come all the way up here _just_ to look at—"

 

And then he notices, for the first time while on this goddamn ride, exactly _how_ high up they're getting. He actually _feels_ his face draining of blood, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach with hollow thud. Holy shit, he could probably see all the way to fucking _Mexico_ from up here.

 

He suddenly really fucking _gets_ why people describe shit as 'breathtaking'. It's _awful._

 

"Fuck," he whispers quietly. His voice is completely devoid of emotion. Mostly due to the fact that it vaguely feels like his heart has stopped pumping altogether. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, f—"

 

All of a sudden, a small hand cups the side of his face, firmly turning him away from the view. Before he can quite catch up to what's happening, a pair of lips are pressing against his, warm and soft and sweet and a little sticky.

 

Oh, yeah. His heart has _definitely_ stopped moving.

 

The girl pulls back after a few seconds. His eyes are open, but it takes him several blinks to fully recover the ability to actually _see_ anything.

 

"Uh," he manages after a few long beats. He blinks again, swallows the lump in his throat, and tries again.

 

"Uh," is what he comes up with on his second try.

 

The girl shrugs, but even in the soft remnants of the quickly fading sunlight, it's clear that her cheeks are flushed pink.

 

"You looked like you could use a distraction," she says, not quite pulling off her nonchalant tone.

 

Seth stares at her, his jaw still hanging ajar.

 

She sits beside him, resolutely facing forwards as she pretends not to notice him staring.

 

"Right," he says, once his jaw is working again.

 

He suddenly realises that his hand is still wrapped around her wrist. With a start, he loosens his fingers, releasing her arm abruptly.

 

"Okay," he says, flexing his fingers on impulse. He can still feel the warmth of her skin tingling in the pads of his fingers.

 

"Cool," he finishes, a little lamely as he settles back into his own seat.

 

She shrugs again, the movement distinctly jerkier than he remembers.

 

"It's something called counter-conditioning," she says, still not looking at him. "It's this thing for dealing with phobias. When you reward pain with pleasure—" she starts, and glances sideways at him, "—I mean, with something _positive,_ the pain doesn't feel as bad."

 

Her tone is breezy in a way that makes it glaringly obvious that whatever she's feeling is anything _but_ breezy. Even so, it kind of makes him forget, even for a minute, that he's still suspended a hundred feet up in the air, the _slightest_ tip of his seat away from falling to his literal death.

 

"Huh," he says slowly, surprised to find himself nodding slightly. He tilts his head, intently focused on her profile. She has a pretty nose. "You a shrink?"

 

She seems to loosen up at that, the tension dissolving from her shoulders as she huffs a light laugh.

 

"I'm a psychology major," she says, shaking her head at him. "Graduating in a few months."

 

He squints at her. "So, like, a shrink in training, then."

 

She rolls her eyes, warm amusement written all over her face despite the feigned exasperation. "Well, I still have a _very_ long way to go before I can answer to that demeaning term with a clear conscience, but yes, I suppose so."

 

He grins, his surroundings completely forgotten at the sight of her wide smile. "Cool, doc. Anyway, what exactly does it mean when you have that dream where you're flying? You know the one? You're cruising along through the clouds, fine and dandy, and then out of nowhere, you suddenly just start dropping like a fucking rock."

 

Both of her brows arch in disbelief, her lips still curved upwards. "I study _psychology._ I'm not a _fortune teller_!"

 

He shrugs, too occupied with enjoying the way her hair falls into her face when she laughs. "All right, all right," he relents, hands held in front of him. "Fine, so, what about that dream where you're trying to..."

 

By the time the ride comes to an end, he's managed to get her to laugh so hard that she leans into him, her shoulder pressed to his, her hand braced on his arm for support instead of the railing in front of them. It's innocent as fuck. Even so, the small triumph sends a thrill racing up his spine.

 

The dark-haired girl — _Kate,_ he's learned — pauses once they're out of the gate, casting a quick glance to her two friends. They're gathered a few feet away, giggling incessantly behind their hands as they put no effort into trying to at least _pretend_ like they're not watching him.

 

"I should get back to my friends," she says apologetically, gesturing towards them.

 

Seth Gecko has never been one for overthinking shit. Nevertheless, that's _definitely_ a hint of reluctance that he's catching in her voice.

 

"Hey," he says quickly, before she can turn away. "Maybe we should… I don't know. Exchange digits or something."

 

She pauses, cocking a brow at him. "'Or something'?"

 

He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets to stop himself from doing something reckless.

 

Like kissing her again.

 

(Well. Technically, _she_ kissed _him_.)

 

… Fuck, he _really_ wants to see her again.

 

"Yeah," he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You know, in case I ever get stuck on top of a goddamn Ferris wheel again and need another distraction. Or maybe just, like, a really high-up floor of a really tall building." He rakes a hand through his hair, flashing a lopsided smile at her. "Or one of those stupid fucking glass elevators that let you see just how high up you're going."

 

For a long moment, she studies him silently, her expression inscrutable.

 

Slowly, she cocks her head.

 

"You know I can't kiss you through the _phone,_ right?"

 

Not to be a cheeseball about it, but his heart is fucking _soaring_ in his goddamn chest right now.

 

He grins and pulls out his phone, handing it to her so she can type in her number. "We'll work something out."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Richie is smirking away when Seth catches up to him a minute later, a smug glint in his eye as he loudly slurps milk tea through a straw, a small tub of popcorn in his other hand.

 

His brother nods pointedly after Kate's departing back. "Nice ride?" he asks, his tone dripping with faux innocence.

 

"Fuck you," Seth says immediately, shoving his hand into the tub to steal a handful of popcorn.

 

**Author's Note:**

> free handful of popcorn for everyone with kudos/comments lmao
> 
> i'm also [on tumblr](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com)!


End file.
